Writing Prompt of the Week

Well, let's see if I can keep something going on this place...

Think of a compass and a sword. What do they mean? What kind of person do they belong to? Were they found by someone or given as a gift? What story do they have? Who can own them that seems unlikely?

Guide Me to the Land

Blue, crystal clear, endless. So much ocean, so far, in every direction. No land in sight. The captain licked his dry lips and looked up at the smiling sun, so yellow and bright. Steady waves slapped gently against his tiny craft's hull, rocking him in their swells, lulling him, crooning. His cramped hands felt molded to wheel, unable to move. No matter. There was nowhere to go.

A tiny whisper, seeming to mix with the gentle lullaby of the waves, lifted his drooping head off his chest. He knew the voice. He knew he should listen to it. He did. The voice curled and murmured, different than the waves, but so soft it hardly mattered. It called for action, for movement. He didn't move, but he smiled. He had listened to the voice. Was that not enough? He would follow it, someday. But not now. The waves were more gentle than they ever had been, now.

The voice whispered again. His cracked lips frowned now. He had listened to it, why wouldn't the voice stop? It whispered again. The waves called, so soft, so comforting. He should stay. More whispering, beginning to rise. He should go.

The captain opened his eyes again, weary and unused to the brightness of the sun. Did it always glare so? The waves lapped and caressed. He squinted. He has opened his eyes before. It was enough.

More murmurings, rising again.
Why do you wander?
Wander? He raised his head more, straightened his back. He was not wandering. He would never wander! Too much was at stake. His boat, probably others. The waves laughed and turned his boat. See? They said. See? There is land in sight yet. He turned about and strained his eyes. Curse this sun! Beating down, clouding his vision. Was there land? Or had he truly wandered?
There! There, away from the sun, lying low on the horizon. Land, lush, green, full of water. He licked his lips, so dry, and longed for the water. Come! Come to me, drink the living water, never thirst again! That voice, calling, carried on the cooling breezes, carried with -
The scent of land.
Stiff hands broke from the tiller, nerve pains shooting through them as the captain swung it over wide, steering for land. Slowly, so slowly the boat began to drift around. Too slowly! Another moment and the land could be lost from sight. What could move him quicker, turn him around? Row, row! cried the waves, slapping against his hull. He reached for the oars, but his hand stopped when it touched them. Row, and see where you get! the waves where chuckling. He listened for the voice. What might it tell him to do?
No voice came. He waited for a moment more, rigid in the sun. And then a breeze started.
Wind! Cool wind, sent by the sender of that tiny voice, he knew. The captain grabbed for his sails, lying stiff and unused on the deck, coated with salt. His fingers broke through the crusty surface and grabbed the cloth, pulling it out of its neat pile and to the mast. Hurry, he urged himself, the waves were pushing him away from that precious land! They were whispering to him still, dragging him back down to his place on the floor. He would not listen. He worked the lines frantically, how stiff they were, running up the sail to catch the precious breeze. The voice whispered on, always there to guide him if he would only listen.
Now the sail was up! He grabbed the tiller again and stood fast against the rocking waves. The sail luffed, and he kept the tiller swung wide. The sail filled! The boat lurched and swung, pointing towards land. The waves still came, stronger now. The boat's prow caught the first one and lifted high into the air, crested the top and led the startling drop down into the trough. It caught the next one and nosed high again. The captain struggled to keep the tiller straight, keeping the boat pointed toward land. He tired, his hands cramping with his tight grip.
Let me steer. The captain listened, his struggle calming. He loosened his grip on the tiller, not sure how he would stay on course but ready to trust. Sure enough, strong hands gripped it and began to guide it towards land straighter than an arrow's flight. The sailor smiled, feeling another's strength and wisdom guiding him, guiding him home, guiding him to the land.

Birds I

I love my zoom lens! I recently captured some very good pictures of different birds with it.

These owls from PAWS animal rescue (http://www.paws-sc.com/) were brought to our barn for a raptors presentation. Tosh is a Barred Owl who has sight issues, and the other is a Red Phase Eastern Screech Owl who was hit by a car.

Red Phase Eastern Screech Owl

Tosh

Tosh II

Contemplative Owl

Tosh III

Talons

Who?

In Christ,
~Maria

EDIT April 21, 2014:
I'm sorry for these pictures being offline! I may be able to fix this post later.

Why English is Hard to Learn

Not wonder I was a dunce at grammer : )

Why English is Hard to Learn

We'll begin with box, the plural is boxes,

But the plural is of ox is oxen, not oxes.

One fowl is a goose, and two are called geese,

Yet the plural off moose is never called meese.

You may find a lone mouse or a house full of mice;

But the plural of house is houses, not hice.

The plural of man is always men,

But the plural of pan is never pen.

If I speak of a foot, and you show me two feet,

And I give you a book, would a pair be a beek?

If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,

Why shouldn't two booths be called beeth?

If the singular's this and the plural is these,

Should the plural of kiss be ever called keese?

We speak of a brother and also of brethren,

But though we say mother, we never say methren.

Then the masculine pronouns are he, his, and him;

But imagine the feminine . . . she, shis, and shim!

-Anonymous

Short Story

I have started work on a short story set on an island off the coast of Wales. It's called Riddle on the Wall right now, and I started it because I wanted to experiment on a story with riddles - and, well, so that I could combine a few of my favorite genres.

It's a medieval-mystery story that starts in an abbey-turned-fortress following the story of Constance,  the young infirmary assistant at St. Mary's Abbey. A strange man showes up at the gates identifying himself as the "Wandering Warrior," and warns of trouble from the seas. The old archer believes that war is coming, and begins training the young men of the Abbey, the surrounding fermtowns, and villages in the art of war. Soon after the Warrior disappears, a riddle appears carved into the stone walls of the infirmary. Constance and her brother Gabriel begin a search for the answer, as a growing threat begins to move in from the sea, and Constance finds her courage tested.

Here is my pinterest board.

I have a goal of 50 pages before I stop, edit, switch stories or do anything else.

May Characters in Costume Challenge - Reveal

And once again, the Characters in Costume Challenge reveal.

This month both my sister and I participated.

This is my sister's character:

She is a pilgrim. And she has a knife. That is the extent of the information I managed to glean from my sister.

And a pony.

This is my character. Her name is Vixa Shen, often just called Vix.

She is an orphan living in the desert country Eremnan, famous for its silk and dyes. She hunts and gathers edible plants for a living.

 Her treasures are a dagger, a single red headscarf, and the strange necklace and parchment that I posted here.

Her headscarf

She actually has red hair and gray eyes.

April Antagonists - Characters in Costume Reveal

This month I participated in the wonderful Characters in Costume Challenge at Gillian Adams' wonderful blog. This month's challenge was to dress up as or draw a picture of a villain, preferably from one of your stories. I chose to draw Interitus, the main villain for my WIP Project Awaken: Fully Alive.

My apologies for the poor photo quality. And the unfinished state of the drawing.
Interitus was once the most beautiful of all creatures, the best of the Shining Ones, the jewel of God's creation. He was named Filius Aurorae, the Son of the Morning. But he became proud, and desired to become like God, to be God. He waited, sowing the seeds of deception in the hearts of his brothers for millennium. Finally, he rebelled. He and his legions, a full third of the Shining Ones, brought discord and fear, anger and war to the Spirit Realm. They became the Night Legions, and he became Interitus, the Deceiver.
They were hurled from the heavens, sentenced to eternal separation from the presence of God. In his bitterness and anger, and hoping to find another way to wrest the Existence from God, Interitus poisoned the Basin, home of the humans. He blinded them and led them astray, destroying the link between their world and his.
Be sure to stop by the other participating sites!

In the Lamb,

~Maria